by Paul Ilechko Red-faced against tendernessthe blood rush the heat rushher as distance closingher as apparition as ghostly burningwhispering his name soft links corrupt with time the fire…
Trypophobia
The kids will grow
into adolescence.
Most of the holes will be
filled by then
and the fear of them
forgotten in the twinkle of infancy.
Starving Bear
What’s it roaring, you ask.
Are we too far to hear?
Since You Looked
Which poets were called for by losing
a voice? When they had I knew
instantly my own lack, and returned
to their poems as I do a wound
After the Bees
In the deserts of mid-July
I occasionally found a light,
cold and crystalized
Stopping Spring
Ice hiding in spent shade—
while sun gropes with blind rays past rust
Say James Baldwin was right
Say James Baldwin was right and white christians
only wage a dispassioned war against
this nation’s original sin. hands washed
in blood,
